Out of the Dark
by Charlotte88
Summary: One-shot; sequel to 'Set Fire to the Rain'. "The sheer memory of those few minutes that occurred five months ago lurks in the recesses of your conscious, permeating everything that you do together, and everything that you do apart."


_Sequel to 'Set Fire to the Rain'. It helps if you've read that first, although I suppose it's not strictly essential. I hope you like it! x_

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**Out of the Dark**

Five months. It takes him five months to get 'back to normal'. Or, at least, what you perceive to be 'normal'.

He's quicker with a smile than you've ever seen him be; post-Hungary, of course. He quips and he laughs and he jokes, and each time he does it makes you smile, because you're seeing just another little bit of him slot back into place.

Every Friday night he'll be round yours with a bottle of wine and a DVD. Most Saturday mornings he'll wake up on your couch and cook you breakfast, whilst grumbling about the sheer scale of his hangover.

He's once again numbed himself to the atrocities they see on a daily basis. Whereas, before, when a stabbing came in, or the victim was pregnant, he would spiral downwards into a cataclysmic depression, now he handles the cases quietly and professionally.

He looks after himself again now, and he also looks after you. When you're down, or upset, or finding it difficult to handle a case, he's there. And this time, rather than sucking you down further with his own negativity, in the past couple of weeks he's managed to buoy your spirits using his wit and common sense. There's the odd teasing joke, but you're used to that.

Yet, you can't help but feel that there's something else. Something casting a permanent, slight awkwardness between you. Simmering underneath every joke, every hug, is the memory of the events of five months previously. The evening you went round to his flat and effectively told him that you loved him. Only without actually using those three little words.

You kick yourself now, and wish that you could go back in time and make it all never happen. Your grief-stricken-turned-relief-stricken mind had told you that it was the right thing to do, when you'd known full well that it wasn't. He hadn't been ready, he'd said so, and if you're honest with yourself you'd known that before you even knocked on his door.

Neither of you had mentioned it since; the kiss, the promise of a future one day. Yet the sheer memory of those few minutes lurks in the recesses of your conscious, permeating everything that you do together, and everything that you do apart.

You hate yourself for being so weak that you had to tell him. Because the residual shadow that hangs over you both as a result of it will never disappear, you know that. Before, defensive walls of humour had protected you both from getting hurt but now those walls have crumbled away, and every 'serious' moment that the two of you share is nothing but raw emotion.

He tells you more than he's ever done before. You're not sure if it's his way of dealing with the grief of Anna, or if he's simply trying to let you in to what he refers to constantly as his 'little black hole of a life'. Although, come to think of it, you've not heard him say that recently.

Whatever it is, the newfound raw emotion is making your relationship – your friendship – all the more intense. It's like the pair of you revolve in your own little continuum, where all that's said and all that's done is like a sacred secret – even if it's the most trivial of topics.

You're closer than you ever have been – and it's exhausting. The honesty that you share with each other is exhausting. The absolute trust that you share with each other is exhausting. But it's only exhausting because of what you're _not_ saying.

Interrupting your train of thought, Leo comes to stand beside your desk. He glances around the empty offices before saying, "Where's Harry?"

"In the cutting room, I think."

Nodding, Leo leans a little closer and says. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine, Leo. Why shouldn't he be?" You didn't notice anything different, yourself.

Leo shrugs. "He's a bit quiet today. He's been hiding down in the cutting room all morning."

"Or maybe he's just busy working on his case." You roll your eyes, amused. Leo's had such a hyper-awareness of Harry's moods post-Hungary. Personally, you think it's rather sweet. Harry, on the other hand, finds the constant pestering irritating.

Leo didn't look convinced. "No... There's something wrong with him. It's not like the past few months, he's not depressed. He just seems ... uncertain about something. Nervous, almost."

You're concerned now. "I didn't notice when he said hello to me this morning. Mind you, I haven't seen him since."

"Exactly."

Before you can say anything else, there's a voice from behind you.

"Erm, Nikki? These just came for you."

You turn to see Zak approaching your desk holding a huge bouquet of flowers. Posh, expensive-looking flowers. He places them down in front of you. To say you were perplexed would be an understatement. You glance up at Leo, who looks just as confused as you.

Frowning, you pluck the small card out and turn it over. There are only two words on it, yet you recognise the handwriting immediately.

_**I'm ready.**_

This time, you're smiling. A lot.

"Who are they from?" Zak and Leo ask in unison.

"They didn't leave a name," you say honestly, standing up. Clutching the card tightly in your hand, you say, "Excuse me, boys, but I have work to do."

Leaving an extremely curious-looking Zak and Leo behind you, you stride in the direction of the cutting room. When you discover that it's empty, you quietly approach the locker room.

You stand in the doorway and observe Harry for a moment. He's redressed from his scrubs to his jumper and jeans, and is sitting on one of the benches, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You slowly enter the room.

"Bit extravagant, Harry, don't you think?" you say suddenly, making him jump. He stands, notices the card in your fingers, and smiles.

"I thought all women liked flowers?" he quipped.

"Since when have I been the same as 'all women'?" you retort.

He snorts slightly. "Oh, you are most definitely not the same as all women."

You narrow your eyes, struggling to prevent a smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should."

"I will."

There's a moment's silence. You're both waiting for the other to say something, neither of you sure how to handle the situation that you've wanted to arise for so long.

"So..." you prompt. It seems to do the trick, as Harry springs into action. He strides across the room and takes your hands in his.

"Five months ago you told me that you wanted there to be an 'us'. So did I. But I wasn't ready then. I needed time to process what happened in Hungary, what that meant for me and for everyone around me."

"And now you have?"

He nods. "Now I have. And I'm ready to be with you. Because I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone in my life. But I'm poison, Nikki."

Your eyes are shining with tears and you shake your head, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I pull down everyone I get close to. I ruin them, I destroy them. I don't want to do that to you too. I care about you too much to let that happen," he mutters, gazing at you desperately.

"For goodness sake, Harry," you sigh. "I have known you for nearly seven years now. I know exactly what you're like. What I said a year ago still stands: you are, and always will be, the first person I call. You're not going to bring me down. You're the only person who can pull me up."

This seems to be enough for Harry, who takes another step closer so that he is completely and entirely in your personal space. He leans down and presses his lips to yours for just the briefest of seconds, yet it leaves your entire body tingling.

"Doctor Alexander, would you care to go to dinner with me tonight?" he asks with a smile.

You attempt a face of mock-thoughtfulness. "I suppose I have nothing better to do."

"I'll pick you up at eight," he grins.

"Okay."

Still smiling, he kisses you again but for longer this time. His hands are placed on your back protectively and you relish the feeling of security that he gives you. A groan escapes your mouth as he runs his tongue over your bottom lip. You know full well that you wouldn't hesitate to take it further there and then, not giving a care as to where you are. Harry, however, seems to have more self-control.

He breaks away, presses another little kiss to the corner of your mouth so that you have time to recover, then winks at you. "I'll see you at eight."

He saunters from the room, and you feel the need to sit down before your knees give way.

**END**


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